


He Wants to Say "I love you.."

by where_havealltheflowers_gone



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Flirting, Future Fic, Happy Ending, M/M, Possessive!Mickey, Slow Build, bouncer!Mickey, cocky!Ian, stripper!Ian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:02:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1189548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/where_havealltheflowers_gone/pseuds/where_havealltheflowers_gone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But keeps it at 'goodnight,'<br/>Because love would meaning falling<br/>And he's afraid of heights."</p>
<p>AU in which The White Swallow is a club where Ian is the newest dancer who slowly becomes the most popular and it's Mickey's job to stop all the scumbags from harassing him. </p>
<p>They fall in love along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Wants to Say "I love you.."

**Author's Note:**

> Might be a moment that is triggering (see end notes).
> 
> I originally started writing this as a Valentine's Day thing, but it got away from me, so. 
> 
> Also, I wrote this BEFORE the whole "what if Ian strips at the club" fiasco, so irony abounds on that note. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

Mickey sighed as the bartender signaled for him for the fifth time that night.  

 

"Fuckin' Valentine's Day, eh?" he said by way of greeting as he plopped down on a barstool in front of the guy.

 

"Dude over there," Charlie said nonchalantly over the thumping music.  He titled his head towards the stage.  "Showing a little too much interest in one of the new dancers.  Just keep an eye on him." 

 

Mickey nodded before casually making his way over the the lower stage, the one where the dancer in question was swinging on a pole.  Mickey scanned the small crowd that was gathered at the base of the stage, immediately spotting the aforementioned guy.  Mickey narrowed his eyes when the man reached up to tuck a bill into the dancer's tight boy shorts.  

 

The dancer- Red, Mickey heard some of the customer's calling him- just winked and lifted himself up on pole again, climbing up until he was high enough off the ground that he could hook his leg behind him and swing around by the limb, his upper body upside down.  His hands landed on the floor and he flipped himself over.  He locked eyes with Mickey and slid his tongue provocatively over his lips, grinning when the bouncer raised his eyebrows. 

 

Mickey had to admit, to himself and himself only, Red was good.  He might be new to The White Swallow, but no way was he new to the industry.  Mickey shrugged it off and looked away, trying not the pay too much attention to the strangely intoxicating man.  He was only over here to do his job.  

 

When he looked back to the harasser, the guy was staring daggers at Mickey.  He looked back up at Red, grabbing his wrist and trying to tug him off the platform. 

 

"Yo!" Mickey yelled, pushing past the suits to get to the pair.  "Nope, nu-uh," he said when he reached them, wrenching Red out of the guy's grip.  "C'mon, buddy.  Show's over.  Time to fuck off." 

 

The man gaped at Mickey, his eyes going from Mickey's face to Red's and back again.  

 

Red crossed his arms over his broad chest, squared his shoulders off.  Mickey tried not to be impressed.  Usually, when Mickey had to intervene in these kinds of situation, the dancer would scurry off and make himself scarce for awhile.  Red didn't back down from a fight; Mickey filed the information away for future references. 

 

Ya know, for job purposes. 

 

"But I _paid_ him," the man whined. 

 

 

"Don't fuckin' care," Mickey shouted over the music.  "Get out or I'm gonna take you out.  Only one way guarantees you won't break a bone or two." 

 

The guy stared at him for a few more seconds, and Mickey was sure the guy was going to do something stupid, like cry or some shit.  He didn't, though, just stuck his chin up and marched towards the door and out onto the street. 

 

Red looked to Mickey, who nodded curtly at him.  Red grinned like Mickey had given him something special, but he hopped onto the main stage without a word.  

 

****

 

"Hey." 

 

Mickey glanced up from where he was counting the money they'd made from the entrance fees to see Red leaning against the podium. 

 

"Hey," Mickey offered, eyeing him in a way he hoped was inconspicuous.

 

Red looked weird in his day clothes.  Okay, not weird, exactly.  He still looked good, all muscles and pale skin and freckles.  He just looked more at home in his boy shorts than he did in his jeans and tight blue vneck, a hoodie slung carelessly over his shoulder.  

 

"Thanks for, ya know, earlier.  With that guy.  I don't know if you remember-" 

 

"S' my job," Mickey cut in, not looking up from the bills in his hands.  "No thanks required." 

 

"Yeah, well."  Red tapped on the wood in front of him.  "Thanks anyway.  Guy was creeping me out." 

 

Mickey snorted.  "They're grown ass men in three piece suits, watching other grown ass men strip on Valentine's Day.  They're all creepy as fuck." 

 

Red chuckled, nodding, moving closer.  "Well," he drawled, "not all the men who watched me tonight were creepy."  His voice was husky.

 

Mickey glanced at him through his eyelashes, looking back down quickly.  "Wasn't watchin' you." 

 

"Kinda looked like you were." 

 

"Looks can be deceiving, Red." 

 

"Ian." 

 

Mickey did look up then.  "What?" 

 

Red- _Ian_ \- grinned.  "That's my name.  My real name, not some phony ass stage name." 

 

"Great," Mickey replied, sarcasm dripping.  "Glad you felt like sharing.  Was there anything else?" 

 

Ian's smile widened.  He folded his arms on top of the podium, leaned into Mickey's space.  "And your name is?" 

 

"None of your fuckin' business," Mickey said evenly, fixing the dancer with a bored look. 

 

Mickey was used to getting hit on by the dancers.  He knew he was good-looking, objectively.  But he'd made a promise to himself to never, like ever, fuck any of the guys at the club.  Mainly because "twink" was not anywhere on his list of things he wanted in a fuckbuddy.  And, ya know, professional etiquette or some shit like that.  He wasn't sure that really applied in a strip club, though. 

 

Anyway.  When they'd approach them, he'd shut 'em down.  And quick.  They usually took the hint pretty early on and they would maintain a work relationship.  Which meant never speaking to each other.  At all.  

 

So Mickey wasn't here to make friends.  Sue him.  

 

But this guy- Ian, his brain traitorously supplied- was a little different.  He was definitely Mickey's type: broad, strong, cocky.  Mickey wanted to fuck him.  Or rather, get fucked by him.  Whatever.  Logistics weren't on his mind right now.  

 

"Mhmm, okay," Ian said softly, pulling Mickey out of his own head.  "Okay.  Make it difficult, good.  I love a challenge.  See ya later." Ian winked at him and let his hips sway temptingly as he left the club.

 

Mickey shook his head, going back to his work.  

 

Whatever.  The guy would give up when he realized how much of an asshole Mickey could be.

 

****

 

He did not give up.  

 

If anything, Ian doubled his efforts over the next few days.  Mickey was pretty sure Charlie, the bartender, was in on it too.  He would beckon Mickey over, always claiming there was some kind of potential creep watching Ian dance. 

 

There usually wasn't.  

 

Mickey would walk away before Ian could start seducing him- or whatever the fuck it was he was going for. 

 

On the fifth night in a row that this happened, Mickey decided he would play along. 

 

"Freak over by Red," Charlie said shortly.  

 

Mickey tossed a glance over his shoulder.  "Uh huh." He looked back to Charlie.  "He seems awful popular lately." 

 

Charlie raised his eyebrows, not looking up from the drink he was mixing.  "Is he?  Hadn't noticed.  Anyway, you should go check it out." 

 

"Oh, yeah.  All over it," Mickey said sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he turned away.  He had to make his way around about two hundred guys to get to the small stage on the far left of the room.  

 

He crossed his arms as he stood towards the back of the group of about thirty or so men that were standing around, watching Ian and waving dollar bills at him.  

 

Ian grinned when he saw him, pointing subtley to Mickey and back to himself.  

 

Mickey cocked his head at him, held his hand out as if to say ' _impress me_.'

 

Ian chuckled and nodded, throwing Mickey a wink.  

 

The stage was simple, one pole and two spotlights.  One of them flashed from green to red to blue and back to green again.  The other was a steady white glow, which made Ian look paler than usually.  Mickey decided he liked that: all the pale skin, practically fluorescent.

 

A lot of room to leave marks.  

 

Ian was leaning against the pole, one hand thrown behind him, gripping at the metal.  The other was traveling down his torso, underneath his unbuttoned shirt.  He got dangerously close to the front of his red spandex before he turned around, grinding against the pole, making sure to push his ass out as far as he could.  

 

The guys surrounding Mickey positively _howled_ and Mickey couldn't help the pang of jealousy that curled in his gut at the noise.  He wanted this to be between him and Ian. 

 

Ian pivoted at the noise, smiling seductively at the crowd.  His eyes found Mickey's and his smile shifted into something more personal, secretive. 

 

Mickey's breath caught in his throat.  

 

This **was** just between the two of them.  It didn't matter that all these guys were watching and would jack off to it later.  Hell, a thousand guys could be watching and this would **still** be between he and Ian only.  

 

Ian dipped down, rolling his hips as he stood again.  He reached up, hoisting himself up on the pole.  He brought his legs up, muscles in his biceps bulging as he swung around.  He landed softly on his feet at the edge of the stage.  Mickey noticed he ignored all the guys trying to stuff money down his shorts.  His eyes were locked on Mickey's.  

 

"Take your shirt off!" a man near Mickey yelled.  It took about eighty-seven percent of Mickey's self-control to not snap the guy's arm in half. 

 

Ian took the edges of his shirt in his hands, at the opening, and shook it, eyebrows raised in a question directed at Mickey. 

 

Mickey nodded at him and Ian grinned.  He shimmied out of the shirt, slowly.  The men hollered again.  

 

"Shorts next!" another guy yelled. 

 

Mickey most definitely did not*b growl at him.

 

Ian hooked his thumbs in the spandex, circling his hips, looking at Mickey expectantly. 

 

Mickey chewed on his lip.  As badly as he wanted to see what Ian was hiding in those shorts, he didn't want anyone else knowing. 

 

He wasn't an idiot.  He knew any guy that set foot in hear had a good chance of seeing Ian stark naked.  But Mickey didn't want to be around to hear the whooping that would be the result of Ian revealing his junk and his ass (his **ass** , though, Christ). 

 

Mickey shook his head shortly.  

 

Ian shrugged, swaying his hips a little as he went to swing around the pole a few more times before he blew a kiss to the crowd and hopped off stage.  

 

"Fuckin' lame," Mickey heard one guy grumble. 

 

"Yeah," another man agreed.  "What's the point of risking my marriage coming here if I don't get to see the hottest dancer's ass?" 

 

Mickey rolled his eyes and made his way back to his station as the next dancer was announced. 

 

He resolutely ignored the erection in his pants.  

 

****

 

"So," Ian drew out as he sauntered up to Mickey while the club was closing down. 

 

"The fuck do you want?" Mickey griped, feigning annoyance.

 

"Hmm," Ian mused.  "World peace.  A college degree.  A puppy would be a nice addiction to my life.  Oh, yeah, and to know your name." 

 

"Fat fuckin' chance." 

 

"Oh, come on.  I gave you enough spank bank material for at least a week when I was up there." 

 

Mickey snorted.  "More like just for tonight." 

 

Ian grinned, leaning against Mickey podium, closer than usual.  "So you're gonna be jacking off thinking about me?" 

 

"So is every other guy that was watching," Mickey grouched. 

 

"Awe," Ian cooed.  He laid a hand on Mickey forearm.  "Are we the jealous type, Mick?" 

 

Mickey set him with a glare. 

 

Ian scraped his nails against Mickey's skin.  "You want everyone to know who I belong to?  Want them to know they can't have me?" His voice was doing that husky thing again. 

 

"You don't belong to me," Mickey mumbled, eyes locked on the white lines Ian was making on his arm.

 

"But you'd like for me to," Ian replied instantly, matter-of-factly. 

 

Mickey jolted out of his stupor, pulling his arm away.  "You don't know shit about me." 

 

Ian propped his arm up on the podium, chin resting in his hand.  "Hm, you're right.  Let's start with your name." 

Mickey smirked.  "Isn't happenin'." 

 

"Fine.  Tell ya what.  M' off tomorrow, but I'll be back Saturday.  I'll give you a private show.  Free of charge." 

 

Mickey's eye snapped up to Ian's face and he blinked.

  "The fuck for?" 

 

Ian held up a finger.  "One, I want to."  A second finger joined the first.  "Two, we're gonna make a deal.  If I can get you hard without touching your dick, then you tell me your name." 

 

"You say that like you haven't done it already," Mickey replied without thinking. 

 

Ian's face lit up.  "You got hard watching me?" 

 

"Yeah, yeah.  Eat it up."  Mickey moved around the podium, elbowing Ian out of the way, and stalked off. 

 

"What about the deal?" Ian called to his back. 

 

"You're on," Mickey replied without turning around.

 

****

 

Mickey was almost sure this was a bad idea. 

 

Ian locked the door and turned, an evil glint in his eye.  

 

Mickey's **completely** sure this was a bad idea.

 

Ian settled over his thighs, not sitting just kind of squatting a little.  It should have been awkward and weird, but Mickey found himself wanting Ian to sink down and slide their hips together until they came all over each other.

 

Mickey blinked.  

 

Ian gripped the back of the chair Mickey was sitting in.  "You ready?" 

 

Mickey swallowed, nodded.  

 

"Okay."  Ian dipped his head so his breath was ghosting over Mickey's ear.  "Here's how this is gonna work.  You're in total control.  I don't usually do that.  Usually I just do my thing, let the guy enjoy whatever parts he does.  If he hates it, whatever."  Ian chuckled lightly.  "I still get paid."  He continued softly, "But not this time.  You're gonna tell me what you want me to take off, when to take it off, how to move.  If I do something you _really_ like, you're gonna tell me.  Same goes for if I do something you don't like.  Got it?" 

 

Mickey swallowed again.  "Don't.. Uh, don't talk about other guys." 

 

Ian pulled back, blinking at him.  His face split into a grin.  "Sure thing."  He circled his hips, not grinding, but close enough that Mickey could feel the heat coming from under his jeans.  

 

"Take those off," Mickey instructed. 

 

Ian raised an eyebrow.  "Take what off, exactly?" 

 

"The jeans.  You need to take them off.  Like, fuck.  Like ten minutes ago." 

 

Ian smirked.  "Pushy.  It's cool.  I like pushy."  Ian slid off of him, popping the button on his jeans as he went.  "You wanna a show of it?" he asked. 

 

"No, no.  Just..off." 

 

"Monosyllabic.  Cute.  Okay."  He shucked them and his socks, leaving them in a messy pile next to Mickey's chair.

 

He straddled Mickey, hands going back to behind the bouncer's head.  "I was so hard on stage the other night," he whispered, "thinking about you watching me.  I don't normally get so turned on, ya know?  S' just a job, but-" 

 

"Don't talk about stripping.  Or being on stage.  Or working here." 

 

Ian stilled his hips for a moment.  "Right, sorry," he said, starting up again.  The teasing, almost-contact was getting to Mickey.  In exactly the way Ian wanted.  "Let's pretend," Ian started, "like I don't work here.  Neither do you.  We're...boyfriends?" 

 

Mickey rolled his eyes.

 

"Okay, fine.  Not boyfriends.  Fuck buddies.  We're playin' a game.  M' trying to get you hard-" 

 

"That's already what you're fucking doing." 

 

"Let me finish.  I'm trying to get you hard, just to prove I can do it.  After I do, you're gonna hold me down and _ravage_ me." 

 

Mickey gnawed on his lip minutely before pushing it out from between his teeth, hoping Ian hadn't notice the small gesture. 

 

No such luck.

 

"Oh. _Oh_. I take it back.  I'm doing the ravaging.  All the ravaging.  Bet you like it hard, don't you, baby?" 

 

"Don't fuckin' yammer at me like I'm a customer.  Take your fucking shirt off." 

 

"I.. I don't call my customers baby," Ian mumbled.  He sat back on Mickey's knees, reaching for the hem of his shirt.  He crossed his arms and tugged the material over his head as he swiveled his torso suggestively.  

 

Mickey opened his mouth to say something, but his mouth dried at the proximity of all that pale skin and Ian's nipples were _right there_.  So close, so touchable-

 

"Ah, ah, ah," Ian chirped.  "No touching." The corner of his mouth lifted as he swatted Mickey's hand away.  "Club policy." 

 

"Thought we didn't work here," Mickey grumbled. 

 

Ian barked out a laugh, scooting up so his crotch was hovering right over Mickey's.  "Yeah, well.  Right now, I really wish we didn't." 

 

Mickey glanced down.  Ian was hard in his shorts.  Ian was hard.  For Mickey.   **Because** of Mickey.  Mickey could see the outline of Ian's dick, could imagine how it would feel in his mouth or sliding into his ass.  Without thinking, his hands shot out, gripping at Ian's hips. 

 

"Woah, woah, woah," Ian said, grinning. "The rule was no touching." 

 

Mickey slammed Ian down onto his own crotch, his cock now so hard it was almost painful.  "You already win," he grunted.

 

Ian ground down, almost experimentally.  Mickey didn't stop himself from tipping his head back and moaning. 

 

"Shh," Ian instructed, clapping a hand over Mickey's mouth.  "I know you wanna pretend we're not here, but if you're too loud, someone **will** come bursting in." 

 

Mickey tore Ian's hand away.  "Someone like who?  M' the only security this dump has." 

 

Ian chuckled.  "True enough." He rolled his hips again, this time making himself moan.  "Don't really, fuck," he gasped after a few more moves.  "Don't really wanna come in my shorts before I go on stage, so." 

 

Mickey could have sworn he instantly got soft.  Probably not, but he felt something in him deflate anyway.  "Probably wouldn't be a good idea," he agreed.  

 

Even though he was thinking the exact opposite, thinking it's be great for everyone to see a wet spot on the front of Ian's spandex, to know he'd gotten off with someone else.  So all the horny men watching him would know they didn't have a chance in hell. 

 

Ian climbed off Mickey's lap.  "But you totally have to tell me your name now.  Even though you kind of cheated."  He grinned at Mickey as he scooped up his clothes from the dirty floor. 

 

"Mickey," the bouncer offered.  "My name's Mickey.  And if you compare me to that fuckin' mouse, I swear I will slit your throat." 

 

Ian laughed, loud and unashamed, with his head tossed back.  "Get that a lot, huh?" he teased as he moved his shirt into place.  He shimmied into his jeans, smirking at Mickey the whole time. 

 

Mickey rolled his eyes.  

 

Ian buttoned his jeans, rested his hands on Mickey's shoulders.  "Mickey," he said, rolling it off his tongue.  Like he was tasting it, testing it out.  "Yeah," he decided, nodding, letting his hands drop to his sides.  He slipped them into his pockets.  "It suits you." 

 

"Great," Mickey commented drily.  "I'll be sure to tell my folks.  We done here?" 

 

"Ya know, if I was a lesser man, the whole 'one and done' thing would sting a bit." 

 

"Good thing we all know there's nothing _lesser_ about you," Mickey quipped as he tugged the door open.

  

Ian's laughter followed him up the hall.

 

He didn't smile about it, though, shut up.

 

****

 

"So, I think that was a dick joke you were trying to make earlier.  Or am I wrong?"  

 

Mickey glanced at Ian out of the corner of his eye, taking in the unbuttoned shirt and blue shorts.  He knocked back the shot in his hand.  "Aren't you s'pose to be on stage?" 

 

"Just got done.  You wanna buy me a drink?" 

 

"No," Mickey said, but he signaled for Charlie anyway. 

 

"What'll it be?" Charlie asked him, a knowing glint in his eye. 

 

Mickey gestured towards Ian. 

 

"Vodka shot," Ian ordered with a nod.  

 

"And another one of these," Mickey added, lifting his glass.  He turned to Ian.  "You even old enough to be drinking?" 

 

Ian laughed.  "How old do you think I am?" 

 

Mickey shrugged. 

 

"I'm twenty-three.  For the record.  How old are you?"

 

Charlie dropped their shots in front of them.  Mickey fiddled with his.  "Twenty-four," he answered. 

 

Ian nodded.  "Cheers?" he asked, glass raised.

 

"What the fuck to?" 

 

Ian shrugged.  "New meetings?" 

 

Mickey snorted and rolled his eyes. 

 

"Fuck you," Ian said through his laughter.

 

"That's a toast I can get behind," Mickey said, tapping his glass to Ian's and downing the shot.  

 

Ian laughed again, so loud Mickey could hear it over the music without straining.  

 

"Don't you have to go on again?" 

 

Ian shrugged, slumped against the bar.  "Maybe.  Wanted to talk to you."

 

"'Course you did." 

 

"I did.  Do.  I have a propisition for you." 

 

"Christ.  What?"  Mickey snapped.  "Haven't you already gotten everything you want?"  He didn't now why he was so annoyed.  Maybe it was because Ian had rubbed himself hard on Mickey's crotch and then just went about his business like it hadn't happened.  Maybe it was because Mickey had just overheard a group of perverts talking about bending Ian over one of the stages and "making him take it."  

 

Maybe it was because he had wanted to bust all of their faces with his fist.  

 

Maybe it was because he knew he couldn't. 

 

"Calm down, geesh." Ian said, holding up a hand.  "What's got your goat anyway?  You're crankier than usual." 

 

"It's nothing," Mickey lied.  "What do you want?" 

 

"Ohh-kay," Ian drawled.  "Anyway, I wanna have sex with you." 

 

Mickey lolled his head to the side and fixed Ian with a look. 

 

"Yeah, I know.  Like, _duh_.  I know you know that, in theory.  But I thought I'd just throw it out there.  If it's something you'd be into." 

 

Mickey opened his mouth to respond with a yes, fuck yes, absolutely.  He wished he knew about a thousand languages so he could say yes over and over without it sounding terribly repetitive.  

 

Before he got the chance, a man- one of the sleezeballs Mickey had heard ealier- came up behind Ian, put a hand on his hipbone.  "Hey, handsome," the guy purred directly into Ian's ear, but still loud enough for Mickey to hear him.  "Can I buy ya a drink?  Take you home, maybe?" 

 

Mickey was off his stool and shoving the guy away before Ian could answer him.  "Fuck off.  No propositioning the dancers." 

 

"I wasn't offering money!" the guy protested. 

 

"Good," Mickey snarled, "because you couldn't afford 'im."  He shoved the guy back into the sworm of people and pivoted to look at a smirking Ian.  

 

Ian had a hand teasing at the wasteband of his shorts.   "Ya know," he said, drawing closer to the shorter man.  "I could **really** get on board with the whole possesive thing."  He was standing directly in front of Mickey then, looking at him down his nose.  

 

Mickey shoved at his shoulder.  "S' my job." 

 

"Oh?" Ian raised an eyebrow.  "It's your job to see red anytime someone shows a little interest in me?" 

 

"For your fucking information, I overheard that guy telling his friends he was gonna force you to have sex with him.  So, you're fucking welcome." 

 

Ian rolled his eyes.  "Please.  You know how many guys say that and then don't do shit?" 

 

"This one coulda been different." 

 

"They're all talk, Mick." 

 

Mickey narrowed his eyes at Ian, wondering why it felt like the guy was trying to comfort him.  "This one asked you to go home with him."

 

Ian waved a hand.  "They all ask me to go home with them." 

 

Mickey glanced around the room.  "All of them?" 

 

Ian snorted a laugh.  "I mean.  Okay, not _all_ of them.  But a lot of them.  More, if they had the balls."  He paused.  "Why are we talking about this again?"

 

"I'm not fuckin' possessive." 

 

"Oh!  Right.  Yeah, you are.  But it's cool.  I like it."  He grinned.  "Anyway, what about my proposition?"

 

"What about it?" 

 

Ian sighed dramatically.  "Sex.  We should have it."

 

Mickey rolled his eyes, smirking.  

 

"Unless you don't want to," Ian challenged. 

 

"You know I do." 

 

"Do I?" 

 

"Fucking Christ, Ian.  I want to have sex with you, okay?  Me and every fuckin' guy in here wants to have sex with you." 

 

Ian grinned.  "Good.  I mean, about you.  I don't really care about anyone else." 

 

"Well, I do." 

 

Ian's smile fell.  "What do you mean?" His brows bunched together.

 

Mickey sighed.  "Are you clean?" 

 

Ian chuckled in surprise.  "What?" 

 

Mickey fixed him with a look.  "Are you clean?" 

 

"No, I heard you.  I meant, um.  Why the fuck would you ask me that?"

 

"Can't be too careful." 

 

"You're only asking me that beause I work here."  Ian crossed his arms.  "Are **you** clean?" 

 

Mickey snorted.  "'Course I am.  I'm not a stripper." 

 

Ian barked out a humorless laugh.  "You think I sleep with the customers?" 

 

"So many of 'em think they've got a chance.  Where else could they have gotten that idea?" 

 

"From their own delusional heads," Ian fumed.  "You're an ass.  And for the record, I've been celibate since I started dancing."  He slammed his fist down on the bartop and glared.

 

Mickey softened.  He didn't know why he'd said all that shit; he didn't actually have any concerns that Ian was fucking around with the clientelle.  And even if he did, even if Ian was, it was none of Mickey's business.  "Look, man, I-" 

 

"Forget it," Ian interupted.  "I'm up soon.  Lots of horny guys to strip for.  Who would love to take me home.  Since m' so easy, apparently."  He took a step closer to Mickey, let his hand drop to his thigh.  "Maybe I **will** go home with one of them tonight.  That would really get you going on, wouldn't it?  Make you wanna barge in and tear him away from me.  Hold me down, ride me until I know who owns me."  Ian's hand slid up to grip at Mickey's aching member.  "God.  You'd milk me for _everything_ , wouldn't you?  Make me come and then keep going and going.  Until I was dry.  Fuck.  I want you so bad right now."  Ian took a step back, just as Mickey had started to lift his hips into Ian's grasp.  "Too bad you're being a total shithead."  Ian pivoted on his heel and stalked away.

 

****

 

Mickey positioned himself at his podium right beside the one and only door in and out of the club all night, deliberately making it so Ian couldn't slip past him unnoticed.  

 

Ian sauntered up hours after his shift was actually over, his hoodie draped over where his hands were clasped together in front of him.  His frown deepened when Mickey cleared his throat. 

 

"Man, if looks could fuckin' kill..." Mickey tried to laugh.  

 

Ian rolled his eyes and huffed a breath.  

 

"Okay, okay.  Look.  I wanted to say.. Fuck, m' sorry. Okay?  I'm sorry." 

 

Ian set his jaw. 

 

"Are you.. Do you hear me?  I mean. Shit.  You obviously hear me.  Um.  But you're not talking to me?" 

 

Ian hooked a hand over his hip and rolled his head to side. 

 

"Yeah, okay.  But m' really fucking sorry.  I don't know why I freaked like that." 

 

"I do," Ian mumbled, eyes cast onto the floor.

 

"Well fuckin' enlighten me then," Mickey griped.

 

Ian glared.  

 

"Or don't.  Whatever." Mickey shuffled through some papers in front of him.  "I apologized.  Don't know what the fuck else you want." 

 

"How 'bout admitting you're the most jealous, possessive fucker the world has ever seen?" Ian quipped.  The smirk on his lips was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. 

 

"Why don't you admit you're not half as mad as you're pretending to me?" 

 

Ian took a step forward, eyes searing into Mickey's.  "The guy I thought I might be into suggests I'm hookin' out of the club I strip at?  Oh, yeah.  M' just _pretending_ to be mad." 

 

" **Though** t you might be into?" Mickey quirked an eyebrow, his eyes hopeful. 

 

Ian rolled his eyes.  "Stop being accidentally adorable when I'm pissed off." 

 

"I like you," Mickey blurted.  "I don't... Uh."  He ran a hand through his gelled hair.  "I don't usually _like_ people.  Guys.  I usually just get off and get goin'.  But you."  He shook his head.  "I dunno."  He chewed on the inside of his cheek, studying Ian's face.

 

Ian nodded.  "S' my ass.  Hypnotizing." 

 

Mickey rolled his eyes, shook his head.  "Yeah.  That's exactly it."  He looked over the paper in his hand.

 

"Does it really bother you so much?  What I do here?" 

 

Mickey's head snapped up to find an intense look on Ian's face.  Open- like he really wanted to know, but hardened too- like Mickey better not fucking lie to him.  "Um.  I mean, what **you** do isn't the problem.  I like what you do."  He smirked playfully. 

 

The edge of Ian's mouth lifted.  He leaned on the podium, didn't look upset anymore, and Mickey relaxed muscles he didn't know had been tense.  "So what is it then?" he asked. 

 

"I don't know, man.  I don't like the way..."  He looked to his left. 

 

"You don't like the way they look at me?"

 

"It's not that.  They'd look at you that way whether you were fully dressed or completely naked."

  

Ian grinned.  "Okay, so what is it?" 

 

"I don't like the way they think they're gonna get to fuck you.  The way you make 'em think you want to fuck them.  Like you'd like it or some shit.  Like you want them." 

 

Ian leaned over.  "Only person I want is you, Mick," he breathed.

 

Mickey gulped, tried his best to memorize the golden flecks in Ian's emerald eyes.  "But they don't know that." 

Ian smiled.  "You want them to?" 

 

Mickey shrugged.  "Does it matter?  S' your job to flirt.  S' how you make your money and shit." 

 

Ian sighed and pulled back, pulling his hoodie over his head.  "This is gonna be a problem, isn't it?" he asked as he adjusted it over his torso.  "If we fuck?" 

 

"S' already a problem and we aren't fuckin' yet." 

 

Ian shook his head, pulled some car keys from his pocket.  "You're actually really fucking impossible." 

 

"Tell me something I don't know," Mickey grumbled. 

 

"How about this?  I'm leaving.  Talk to me when you work your shit out." With that, Ian stormed into the night.

 

****

 

Ian showed up to work the next night, coming on the main stage as the featured dancer of the night.  It was a big deal at their club, where they only changed main dancer when someone quit or got fired.  Mickey knew it was big deal and he saw Ian accepting congratulations from almost every person in the fucking place. 

 

When Ian locked eyes with him, Mickey just nodded.  Ian grinned back at him.  

 

But they both knew he didn't mean it.

 

When he got onstage, the crowd went wild.  Ian nodded to the DJ and he played some slow, Katy Perry song that had a tempo that made Ian roll his hips in a way that Mickey decided should be illegal. 

 

_So you wanna play with magic?_

_Boy, you should know what you're fallin' for._

_Baby, do you dare to do this?_

_'Cause I'm comin' at you like a dark horse._

_Are you ready for, ready for_

_A perfect storm, a perfect storm?_

_'Cause once you're mine, there's no goin' back._

 

Mickey snorted. Fitting.

 

****

 

Ian slapped his twentieth high five of the evening as he made his way to the bouncer podium.  He practically draped himself over it.  "Soooo," he said and cleared his throat.  He might have been a little intoxicated. 

 

Mickey noticed.  "That much vodka, huh?" 

 

"Fuck you, it's a big night for me.  D'you like my performance?" 

 

Mickey nodded. "Sure," he said, but he wasn't meeting Ian's eyes.

 

"What's the matter?  You hear some guy make some explicit comment about my ass?  Or the things he bets my hips can do?  'Cause, lemme tell you, they can do some _amazing_ things."  

 

Mickey snorted.  "I've noticed." 

 

Ian grinned. "Oh, baby, you ain't seen nothin' yet." 

 

Mickey smirked at him, took a second to enjoy the way his eyes were dancing from the alcohol and the lateness of the night.  "Thought you weren't talkin' to me." 

 

Ian shrugged.  "Decided to forgive you.  Even though you don't deserve it." 

 

"You're just a nice person, huh." 

 

"You bet your ass," Ian retorted.  "Your nice, round ass that I'd love to just..." he trailed off and blinked a few times.  Looked back at Mickey, "where were we?" 

 

Mickey shrugged. "You were writing poetry about my ass, I think." 

 

"So did you really watch me tonight or was the jealousy too much for you to handle?" 

 

"Jealousy isn't gonna stop from watchin' you." 

 

Ian smiled at him.  "So you did watch?" 

 

"I fuckin' said I did, didn't I?" 

 

"Not in so many words.  Did you get a boner?" 

 

Mickey shrugged. 

 

"You did!" Ian exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at him.  "You totally did."  He grinned.

 

"You are so drunk." 

 

"Maybe.  But I got you hard." 

 

"Isn't like it's a new fuckin' thing."

 

"Still.  Let me be smug." 

 

"That song you picked was good." 

 

Ian gaped at him.  "You like Katy Perry?" 

 

"Fuck you.  I've worked in a gay club for five fuckin' years.  I know artists." 

 

"Hm.  But yeah.  I liked it.  Tempo was cool." 

 

"Lyrics were fitting." 

 

"To what?  Like to me?"  Ian bent over, cackling.  "Oh my god," he sighed when he came up for air, wiping at his eyes.  "You're really ridiculous." 

 

"Isn't everyone suppose to think that's what you're like or some shit?" 

 

"Well, yeah.  But I'm not really."

 

"Whatever." 

 

"So I want to fuck you tonight.  As a celebration." 

 

"You're drunk." 

 

"M' also very horny." 

 

"I'm not fuckin' you drunk." 

 

"Good thing you won't be doing the fucking then." 

 

"We're not having sex while you're drunk." 

 

"Party pooper," Ian pouted.  "Fine.  Tomorrow then." 

 

Mickey nodded his agreement. 

 

Ian walked around the podium, like he was going to the door.  At the last moment, he swerved towards Mickey, his mouth brushing against the older man's ear.  "Tomorrow," he breathed out, pressing his lips on Mickey's temple briefly.  And then he was gone.

 

Mickey blamed his shivering on the cold air coming in from outside.

 

****

 

"So how do you wanna do this?" Ian asked after he'd unlocked the door to his apartment and slipped inside.  "I mean, position-wise?" 

 

"I don't give a fuck," Mickey replied, taking off his coat.  

 

"Here, let me just," Ian said, taking Mickey's coat from him and throwing it over a chair at his dining room table.

 

"I couldn't have done that?" Mickey asked dubiously, with a roll of his eyes. 

 

Ian laughed.  "Sorry, I'm just... weirdly nervous.  I don't know."

 

"Maybe you don't actually want this."

 

"No, no, no." Ian said quickly, moving closer to Mickey and sliding his hands onto the shorter man's hips.   "I definitely want this," he reassured.

 

"Good." 

 

Ian smiled.  "Good."  He dipped his head and-

 

Mickey pulled his head back.  "One thing."

 

"What's wrong?" 

 

"I don't do kissin'." 

 

Ian narrowed his eyes.  "Why not?" 

 

Mickey shrugged.  "Just don't." 

 

Ian chuckled.  "Well tonight you do."  Ian ducked his head, catching Mickey's lips with his own.  At first, it was awkward because Mickey refused to kiss back.  "C'mon," Ian encouraged.  He mouthed at Mickey's bottom lip, causing him to gasp.  Ian dove in, tongue running over Mickey's lips before he thrust it into Mickey's mouth. 

 

Mickey moaned, grabbed at Ian's face with a frenzy he didn't know he had in him and sucked on his tongue.

 

Ian gasped and closed his mouth, taking the kiss back to just lips and spit and breathing shallowly through their noses so they didn't have to pull back.  Ian did stop eventually, though, when his lungs felt pulled so tight, he was sure he was going to suffer permanent damage.  "Bed," he managed after his breath evened out. 

 

Mickey nodded and turned towards the two bedroom.  "Which one-"

 

Ian grabbed Mickey's wrist, dragging him into the room on the far right and slamming the door shut with his foot.  He shoved Mickey down on the bed and immediately starting removing his own clothes.  "Now," Ian started, "I know I made that comment about you liking it hard and you never really negated that.  But if that's not true, if you like it some other way-" 

 

"Hard is good," Mickey offered from where he was wiggling out of his jeans. 

 

"God.  Shit. Okay.  You're on my bed in only boxers.  Okay." 

 

Mickey smirked.  "Like what you see?" 

 

"Fuck yeah," Ian admitted.  He stepped out of his spandex, giving Mickey another second so he could get naked too.  Ian kneeled on the bed.  "Can we just- Fuck.  Okay.  Can we just like go straight to fucking right now and do blow jobs and rimming and all that shit later?" 

 

"No, yeah.  Good.  Straight to fuckin'."  Mickey flipped himself over so his face was buried in Ian's comforter and his ass was up in the air.  

 

"Fuck.  So hot, you have no idea.  Just hold that?"  Ian got up, moved to his bedside table and started rooting around in the top drawer.  "Oh, no," he groaned after a minute of searching.

 

Mickey pushed himself up on his elbows to peer into the drawer.  "No lube?" 

 

Ian looked at him, disappointment etched on his face.  "No condoms." 

 

Mickey's face fell.  He let his eyes travel from Ian's face down his toned chest and abs to his dick, still resting hard and flushed against his stomach.  "Fuck the condoms."  He looked back up to Ian's face.  "Seriously.  I don't give a shit if you don't." 

 

"It just.. isn't the way I normally do things." 

 

"Hey, if you're uncomfortable or some shit, whatever.  No sex tonight, I guess." 

 

Ian groaned again, flopping against the wall.  

 

Mickey eyed him, shook his still raised ass a little.  

 

"Okay, okay," Ian croaked.  "Just this once, no comdoms.  Only because I'm desperate and you're gonna tease the fuck outta me for the rest of the night otherwise." 

 

Mickey smirked and settled his face back into the blanket.  He whined in the back of his throat when Ian pressed a slicked finger to the outer ring of his hole.  

 

"God.  How _long_ has it been since you been fucked?  You're so fuckin' tight.  I can't wait to ruin you, baby." 

 

And that's when Mickey learned when he should have already figured out: Ian had a thing for dirty talk.  And, holy shit, the filth that came out of that guy's mouth.

 

Ian rested a hand on Mickey's hip and he pushed into him a half an hour later, after he'd stretched Mickey on four fingers.  

 

"Ian," Mickey gasped- his first intelligible words since Ian started fingering him.

 

Ian immediately stilled above him.  "What?  What is it?  Are you okay?  Does it hurt?  Do you-" 

 

"Oh my god, shut up and fuck me." 

 

Ian laughed, breathless and in his throat.  "I thought I **was** fucking you, Mick," he responded as he started pushing in again, enjoying the was Mickey moved back against him.  "Someone's eager," he joked.

 

"Not hard enough," Mickey supplied. 

 

"M' gettin' you used to it." 

 

"I'm fuckin' used to it already," Mickey snarled.

 

"Bossy bottom."

 

"Thought you liked pushy." 

 

Ian hummed in acknowledgement.  He gripped Mickey's hips, being sure to dig his fingernails into the meaty underside of Mickey's belly. 

 

Mickey moaned.

 

"Good?" 

 

"Fuck yeah.  Just ram it into me.  You said you were gonna fuckin' ruin me.  Remember?  C'mon.  Make me forget my fuckin' name, Ian.   **Come on**." 

 

"Happy to oblige."

 

****

 

Mickey was awakened by the bed dipping slightly to his left.  He sat up fast, rubbing his face.

 

"Chill," Ian whispered with a chuckle.  He thrust a mug in Mickey's direction as he took a sip of his own. 

 

Mickey blinked at it, at him, and grumbled his thanks as he sucked it down.  

 

"Didn't actually know if you liked coffee.  Or how you like it.  I have creamer, if you-" 

 

"I drink it black usually," Mickey cut in with a wave of his hand.  He took another drink.  "S' good.  Thanks." 

 

Ian grinned at him.  He drank his coffee instead of responding.  He got off the bed and went to lean up against his wall next to his window, parting the curtains with his hand and looking at.

 

Mickey gazed at him over the top of his cup.  He left himself take note of the way Ian's hair was sticking out in a bunch of directions, making him look sleepy and adorable.  His eyes trailed over the shirt Ian was wearing and- "Is that my shirt?" 

 

Ian looked at him and down at the clothing in question.  He grinned sheepishly.  "In my defense, it was the first thing I grabbed off the floor when I got up." 

 

"Looks good on you," Mickey muttered into his mug.

 

"Oh yeah?" Ian asked.  The edge of mouth turned up as he approached the bed.  He set his cup onto his bedside table, settling down in front of Mickey.  "Good enough to take off?"  He grinned.

 

Mickey rolled his eyes, but he was smirking.  He leant forward, letting his lips land haphazardly on Ian's, licking into his mouth after a moment.  He pulled back.  "I should brush my teeth," he grimaced.

 

Ian laughed.  "You really think I care?  Come back here."  He put a hand on Mickey's shoulder and pulled him forward.

 

Just as their lips were meeting, the door to Ian's bedroom burst open.  "Hey, Ian, I- holy shit!" 

 

Mickey jolted away from Ian, grabbing at the sheets surrounding him to make sure he was covered up.  He looked to see a woman- a hot one, admittedly- standing at the enterance, her mouth formed into an **O**.  She had on only underwear and a shirt that was too big on her around the shoulders and-

 

Mickey blinked.  

 

She was wearing Ian's shirt.  

 

Mickey blinked again before the realization hit him.

 

Ian had a girlfriend.  A live-in girlfriend.  

 

"Fuckin' seriously?" Mickey snarled at Ian, his lip curling up in what he was sure was a disgusting gesture.

 

"Who the fuck is he?" the lady exclaimed, pointing at Mickey but looking to Ian.

 

Mickey stood, not bothering to drag the sheet with him to cover his junk.  He bent to snatch his boxers from the floor before tugging them on.  "Leavin'," he answered the girl.  "He's leaving." 

 

"Wait, Mick, you don't have to-" Ian tried.

 

Mickey turned on him.  "Fuck. You.  Fuck you."  He gestured towards the still shocked woman at the door.  "A girlfriend?  Really?  I mean, really?  Does she know you work at a gay club?  Does she know you **strip** at a gay club?  That you're our most popular dancer?"

Ian opened his mouth.  

 

"No," Mickey stopped him, bringing his hand up.  "Don't."  He tugged the shirt he'd scooped up from the floor on roughly.  He turned to the lady.  "You've got a real fuckin' catch on your hands, really."  He stormed from the room and out the front door of the apartment, making sure to slam the door behind him when he left.

 

****

 

Ian was off work for three days straight.

 

Mickey tried not to notice.

 

****

Mickey quit the club.  He got a better job offer at a different club, an Ian-free club, a few blocks down.  

 

The manager of The White Swallow was understanding.  A few of the dancers insisted on throwing him a going away party.

 

Mickey grumbled his way through the gathering.

 

Halfway into it, Charlie got on top of a chair and hit a fork onto his beer bottle.  "Hey, hey!" he yelled to quiet everyone down.  "I just wanted to raise a glass to Mickey, the best damn bouncer this club has ever had."  He looked to Mickey.  "I mean it, dude, everyone feels safer with you here."  

 

The dancers called out their agreement.  

 

Mickey scanned the group.  Ian was sitting in the corner, studying him carelessly, nursing a beer. 

 

Charlie continued.  "You're the scariest motherfucker I've ever met, and I never thought I'd like ya.  But you're good, underneath it all.  You care.  We're sad to see you go, but goddamn it do we _love_ to watch you leave."

 

The dancers whooped, a few sending winks his direction.

Mickey rolled his eyes.

 

"To Mickey!" Charlie finished, thrusting his bottle above his head.

 

"To Mickey!" everyone yelled, raising their drinks high and downing them a second later.

 

****

 

"You're a _rea_ l fuckin' piece of work." 

 

Mickey glaned at Ian, who was strung across the bartop.  Mickey was behind it, cleaning up a few things since Charlie decided to drink himself in obvlivion about two hours too soon. "You're drunk." 

 

"Not, actually.  I had one beer.  You, however, are an asshole." 

 

"Why's that?"  Mickey asked as he dried a shot glass.  "'Cause I didn't wanna fuck a straight guy?" 

 

Ian laughed.  "Wow.  Just wow.  Lemme ask ya somethin'."  He hopped up on the counter.  "Did I feel inexperienced?" 

 

Mickey let his eyes fall shut at the memories that poured into his mind: Ian pressing a hand flat to his back and slamming into him like his life depended on it; Ian draping himself over Mickey's back; waking up to Ian nuzzling his still soft cock; Ian sucking his brain out through his dick.  The way Ian looked with come dripping off his eyelashes.  Ian whispering to him in the darkness.  Ian playing with his hair. 

 

Mickey had to remind himself to breathe.  "Not at the time, no." 

 

Ian laughed again.  "So where ya think I learned it?"

 

Mickey said nothing.

 

Ian jumped off the bar.  "Okay, look at it like this.  Did you ever think that maybe*it you jumped to conclusions?  I mean, she couldn't possibly be anything other than my girlfriend, right?" 

 

"Fuck off." 

 

"Hm.  Yeah, not happenin'.  Her name's Fiona, by the way." 

 

"I don't give a shit what your girlfriend's name is, Red."

 

"Oh my god!  She isn't my girlfriend.  I'm gay."

 

"Tell me another one." 

 

"You're impossible.  She's my fuckin' sister.  For the record." 

 

Mickey looked up at him, blinking. 

 

"Yeah," Ian nodded.  "I know what you're thinking.  And the answer is yes.  You are, in fact, an asshole."

 

"Ian.." 

 

"Apologies only accepted in the form of sexual favors," Ian interrupted. 

 

"Done," Mickey said instantly.

 

Ian grinned at him.  "There was something else." 

 

"What is it?" 

 

Ian let his smile drop as he played with the sleeve of his hoodie.  "I don't feel safe workin' here without you." 

 

Mickey stilled.  "So come to other club with me." 

 

Ian looked at him.  "You mean it?" 

 

"Sure." 

 

Ian smiled.  "One more thing." 

 

"Christ.  What?" 

 

"Hey, fuck off, you owe me." 

 

"Fair enough." 

 

"A date.  We're going on a date.  And we're gonna be boyfriends." 

 

"You're tellin' instead of fucking asking?" 

 

"Yep," Ian answered, making a popping noise at the end.

 

Mickey smiled at him.  "Okay." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Mickey overhears some guys saying he's going to force Ian to have sex with him and then mentions it to Ian later when the guy approaches him and offers to take him home.
> 
>  
> 
> Song lyrics that are used are from Katy Perry's Dark Horse.


End file.
